Of Slayers and Knights
by Wannabe Darklord
Summary: A series of relatively unconnected stories focusing on Buffy and Boromir, not necessarily in a romantic fashion. Cameo appearances by other characters.
1. A Summer Day

A/N: Due to my extreme frustration at all of those fics where Boromir gets extremely jealous of Buffy and Legolas/Aragorn/whomever, I've decided to write something focusing more on Buffy and Boromir (not necessarily in a romantic fashion). I plan for this to be a series of relatively unconnected stories featuring the two of them. Thanks to Deb for the inspiration!

Title: A Summer Day

Series: Of Slayers and Knights

Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (book and movie)

Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.

When: After the War of the Ring, undetermined for BtVS

Characters: implied Buffy/Boromir, Aragorn

Summary: A warm day in Minas Tirith invites the top officials of the Reunified Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor for a bit of relaxation.

* * *

The clanging of steel was heard throughout the training area, distracting king Elessar from the missive he had been reading while walking through his garden. Intrigued, he made his way toward the practice area to what sounded like a vicious battle. He let a smirk show through when he saw exactly who was fighting.

Buffy and Boromir were at it again, sparring with swords as usual in the heat of the sun, unmindful of their observer. Aragorn leaned against the wall to watch; it was bound to be entertaining one way or another. If it was not their endless verbal sparring, then it would likely be entertaining in their often sneaky and underhanded ways of trying to beat each other – a thing both were guilty of.

They were well matched, he mused as he continued watching, they both always won around the same amount of times. It was obvious that Buffy had more strength and probably endurance, but Boromir was no novice in swordplay. This was a man who had wielded a sword almost as soon as he could lift one (and even before that, Aragorn remembered with a smile). He had spent hours in the battlefield in defense of his country; Aragorn did not think that this amounted to quite the same challenge.

A particularly brutal assault from Buffy drew Aragorn's attention back to the fight. She seemed to be gaining the advantage. _Interesting_, Aragorn thought, _More often than not, those two will spend hours trying to best the other. Surely Boromir can't already be tiring?_ He wasn't, which was proven a moment later when he gave back as good as he got, blocking her blows with ease.

Aragorn suppressed a snort. It looked like this could go on for a while and _he_ at least, had work to do (at this thought he shot a nasty look towards his _Steward_ who didn't notice and in fact seemed to be having the time of his life). Shaking his head fondly, he left in the direction of his office.

**xxx**

"Oh, come on Boro – my granny could block better than that!" Buffy gave a feral grin toward Boromir, immensely enjoying their latest sparring session. He merely smirked, surprising her a bit when he doubled his attack.

"And how many times," he said while blocking another of her blows and repaying in kind, "must I insist that you not call me that?"

She aimed a slash for his midsection which he parried easily. "Oh, about a few thousand times," she said airily. He merely grunted, concentrating on putting her off balance.

"What? No more quips?" she pouted and then laughed as he raised an eyebrow at her. He took the opportunity to kick her feet under her, sending her sprawling to the ground.

"You are still dropping your elbow, Buffy," he said quite smugly as he sheathed his sword.

She glared at him from her position on the ground. "You cheated!"

Barely a glance was aimed in her direction as he grabbed a flask of water from the shade. "I think not," was his haughty reply.

"Oh do not get on with the I'm-a-noble-and-therefore-better-than-you routine!" she said exasperated, getting up slowly. Mockingly, but with a slight grin tugging at his lips, he turned towards her slowly. With an air as if he was taking to a child, he said, "Ah, but I _am _a noble and therefore - better."

She glared at him, hands on her hips. The wide smile on her face ruined the effect however. "You're _so_ going to regret this, Boro."

He backed away slowly, arms crossed over his chest, the eyebrow up. "Oh, will I?" She advanced just as slowly, nodding.

"Well, then," he said with a tone of finality, "there is just one more thing I wish to say to you." Buffy raised an eyebrow in imitation, motioning with a hand for him to go ahead.

"You'll have to catch me first," Boromir said and bolted. Buffy stared a bit at the space he had occupied before she ran after him laughing.

**xxx**

Aragorn watched in disbelief as his Steward ran past him, followed by a determined looking Buffy hot at his heels. He hadn't thought that things had so degraded between them that they had to resort to chasing each other 'round the Citadel. His worries were proved unfounded though, as Buffy took a running leap and sent both of them careening into a pile of crates. He could hear both of them laughing uproariously as he finally continued his journey to his office. _Some things never change_, he mused again. Those two had been at each other's throats since Rivendell. He was glad though that they had shifted their intensions after the War ended. Minas Tirith would not have been left standing otherwise…

A moment later, he changed his path to Arwen's study. He hoped she was in the mood to put off some of her duties for a carefree afternoon. After all, why should his Steward be off enjoying himself if he couldn't?

**Fin**


	2. Aftershock

Title: Aftershock

Series: Of Slayers and Knights

Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (book and movie)

Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.

When: pre FOTR, undetermined for BtVS

Characters: Buffy, Boromir

Summary: After the bridge in Osgiliath was broken in the battle, Buffy and Boromir are among those few who survived…

A/N: A different story than I had originally intended. I'll post that one when I find some inspiration to finish it.

* * *

The screams of the dying men and orcs filled her ears, mixing together with the crashes as crumbling stone was deliberately sent into the raging waters below. Buffy still fought for those few precious moments before the bridge collapsed beneath her feet, buying time for the company of soldiers to retreat. Boromir and a company of other men, including his brother fiercely fought beside her, desperately trying to stop the swirling black mass of orcs from crossing it. To fail meant Gondor's ruin and that knowledge spurred her on.

Before she could cry out, yell for the others to retreat, she felt herself falling with the destroyed bridge. Bitterly cold water engulfed her, threatening to pull her under as stones crashed over her head. She kicked, desperately trying to reach the surface, unpleasant memories of drowning resurfacing. The armor she wore weighed her down as she now battled the exhaustion that long hours of fighting had brought. Finally, when dark spots had started filling her vision, she broke through to the surface. The roaring water overwhelmed her senses, the cold stole her breath. Her limbs felt like lead, but she still kicked for the western shore of the Anduin, for safety.

Something slammed into her from behind, sending her under again. Gravel and silt shifted beneath her as her feet hit the bottom. Buffy gasped, inhaling a lungful of water; her head was spinning. A second later, someone grabbed her, pulling her head from under the water, dragging her to the shore. She sputtered, coughing and sagged against her rescuer. Her legs trembled as she stood upon muddy ground once more, still leaning heavily against the solid body.

As she finally straightened up, she noticed that the hands supporting her were shivering. She turned to see Boromir standing beside her - barely, soaked to the bone, just as she was. Buffy noted that he had managed to shed most of his armor at some point – likely the only reason that both he and she were still alive, leaving only his wet tunic and trousers to shield him from the cold wind.

She gave him a shaky smile, just glad to be alive, glad that they had secured the west bank. They had won in a fashion, lived to fight another day. Gondor still had its Captain-General, it was safe for now.

"We did it Boro. We held the west bank. We held them back," she quietly said, a note of triumph in her voice. She frowned when Boromir just shook his head. He was shaking like a leaf, not all of it due to the cold. He stumbled a bit, before retching onto one of the many broken stones littering the area. Buffy came to his side as quick as her aching body allowed, supporting him.

"They're dead…they're all dead…" he hoarsely said, "It was a massacre…they caught us unprepared." A flash of guilt passed through her; she had barely given a second thought at the fallen. But the living took precedence, and she had never heard him speak like this. She had been at his side through many battles, but he had never been affected so.

"Hush," she softly said as she brushed his hair back. Both of them were still kneeling on the ground. "Blame and guilt later, right now – be glad to be alive. We need to get back to the city before we both collapse." Boromir barely responded and instead his shaking increased. He moaned and would have tipped over but for Buffy, who held on to him.

"Damn it, Boromir. I didn't say 'go ahead _and_ collapse'," She cursed herself for not noticing that he was injured earlier. She gently laid him down, worried now at his unresponsiveness. Blood soaked his left leg and Buffy discovered a phenomenal array of bruises across his whole chest when she had lifted his tunic. She groaned, filled with worry.

"Why couldn't you have hit your head instead? It's so thick there'd be no damage done…C'mon Boro, wake up," she murmured a constant litany of similar words as she tried to wake him, ignoring her own aching limbs and exhaustion. Further examination showed that he had hit his head; there was a cut near his temple and the beginnings of bruising. How he had survived the water, managed to somehow take off his complicated armor and save her, she had no idea.

Finally, she managed to get him to open his eyes and she breathed a slight sigh of relief. He groaned, slipping back into unconsciousness.

"Oh no, you don't mister." Buffy said and poked him in the chest, lost for another course of action. "When you bang your head, very bad idea to black out," she continued, noticing with relief that he seemed to be listening to her now. Or well, trying to focus if his bleary gaze was anything to go by. He groaned again.

"Hurts…" he managed to whisper, "cold, so cold…so many dead…"

"Shh, the battle's over Boro. Don't black out, please. Calm down, we'll be somewhere safe soon…" for a moment she wasn't sure who she was reassuring – him or herself. Their position was precarious, no one knew they were here, they had no supplies and orcs still roamed about. Buffy could only be thankful that it wasn't raining, which would considerably worsen their situation. Unfortunately, if those grey clouds looming overhead where anything to go by, they would be running out of luck soon.

Another moan from him jerked her out of her troubled thoughts. He was shaking again. She frowned again with worry, cursing when she felt the mounting fever. Just how long had they been in the river? Her Slayer metabolism and healing had most likely protected her from the worst of the aftereffects – Boromir had no such luck; hours of fighting followed by a sudden dunking into freezing water were not beneficial to the health. She had to get them to someplace warm, preferably with a healer, very quickly.

Buffy rapidly shed her cumbersome armor, swaying slightly with exhaustion. She bound his bleeding leg the best she could and tried to pick him up.

"You weigh a ton, Boromir. Help me out a little bit here…" She could feel him trying to make it easier for her and breathed another sigh of relief. She finally managed to get a good grip and swung his arm around her, keeping him from falling again. "Let's get you out of here…" His head lolled, his injured leg was unable to support his weight and it seemed as if he had slipped out of consciousness again.

"Damn it, Boro." She grunted. This did not bode well. Buffy staggered under his full weight, but stubbornly refused to let them fall to the ground. If they did, she had a feeling that they would not get up again. The fact that he was much taller than her did not help her any as she made her slow way ahead in the general direction of Minas Tirith. She just hoped she would make it with Gondor's Captain-General still alive.

**Fin**


	3. Rest and Relaxation

Title: Rest and Relaxation

Series: Of Slayers and Knights

Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (book and movie)

Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.

When: pre FOTR, undetermined for BtVS

Characters: Buffy, Boromir, Faramir

Summary: Buffy needs to blend in, learn how to be a 'proper' lady and stop antagonizing the Gondorian courts. These attempts are not very successful.

A/N: I was always slightly puzzled that so many people think that Boromir wouldn't understand Sindarin – I mean, he was the son of the Steward, despite the fact that he wasn't studious, he would been required to learn it, probably from a very early age. So, this is just a random inspiration from that fact. Thanks to all of my reviewers. You are inspiring me to write this when I definitely should be doing other things :)

* * *

The doors slammed open as Buffy determinedly strode into the room, ignoring Boromir, who was peacefully sitting in a chair by the fire. Boromir ignored her much in the same way, not even glancing up from the book he was reading. These dramatic entrances had become far too common of an occurrence for him to pay too much attention to it.

"I trust that the lessons went well then," he said dryly, turning another page. Buffy glared at him, sitting down in a nearby chair huffily. His lips threatened to twitch into a smirk, but he still did not turn to look at her.

"Funny, Boromir, really funny. Since when have the lessons ever gone well? I think I drove the man to tears this time," she frowned. He looked up from the book incredulously.

"What have you been doing to the poor man? It surely cannot be that difficult to remember. I drove my tutors to distraction when I was younger, but I don't think that I ever forced them to tears." The smirk did escape him this time, as he remembered 'the good old days'. He had drawn _such_ enjoyment from deliberately goading the tutors.

"Easy for you to say, you _had_ to learn this stuff." She crossed her arms and had a monumental internal struggle to not let a pout show through.

"Yes, and so do you, I believe. Father will not be able to take much more of your flippancy." Boromir said a tad more seriously and returned to his book.

"What's his problem with me? Wait, no, don't answer that." She said upon seeing Boromir's expression, "I mean, he had no problem with it when I first met him. Did someone shove a stick up his ass when I wasn't looking?" He choked, half amused, half incredulous and just a little bit disproving. One either learned to live with Buffy or constantly butt heads with her – a thing his father was willing to put to the test. For his part, he had long given up trying to moderate her behavior. It was actually refreshing to see the nobles so…shocked (to put it mildly) by her.

"Buffy, he has too many obligations to be constantly on the look out to fix your mistakes. He will not care how you act with him privately, but your public behavior is a reflection on him. If he can not control you from acting so belligerently, others might take it upon themselves to do so – or see it as a sign that his control is slipping. We, none of us, can afford that."

Buffy looked for a moment as if she would protest, before slumping back into the chair with a groan. "I hate politics."

Faramir chose this opportune moment to walk in, looking extremely harassed. He took no notice of the two figures by the fire, instead choosing to mutter what had to be insults in that language which Buffy recognized to be Sindarin. He was also pacing, a thing rarely seen from the usually calm and collected figure. More often than not, it would be Boromir who was pacing while Faramir calmly sat reading.

"Faramir, that man is as stiff as a board and likely has a stick up his arse, as Buffy had so aptly put it. I highly doubt that he would be able to do the required amount of stretching for that activity you just mentioned." Boromir chimed in his opinion of Faramir's ranting, still not looking up from the text he was reading. Buffy had a vague moment of being impressed that sweet, good natured Faramir could be vulgar enough to warrant such a response from Boromir. Perhaps there was some merit in putting more effort into learning the language after all; she was just dying of curiosity to know what Faramir had said. She also had to repress a snigger at Boromir's timely comment. Dry wit – it seemed to run in the family.

Faramir turned calmly around to retort, but stopped short at seeing Boromir in front of the fire with a book of all things.

"You're reading," he said.

"Yes, and you are standing around hoping that a fly will enter your mouth," was the dry retort. Faramir's mouth shut with a click and a half-hearted glare was aimed toward his brother.

"But you never read. Leastways not," a quick glance was stolen to view the title, "_the Narn i Hin Hurin? _Isn't that…ah, rather long for your tastes, dear brother?" Faramir's tone was teasing – he knew full well that Boromir liked all of the old tales– a throwback to the days when Faramir had begged his older brother to read to him. He just had a particular fondness for the war stories. But it was rare for him these days to have the patience to be sitting down and actually reading them!

"Contrary to the popular impression that I have given my tutors, I am not illiterate. Even I feel the occasional need to wind down with a book," this time Boromir did glance up, amusement clear on his face.

"Ah, my apologies," Faramir grinned. He finally turned to Buffy, who had been watching the interaction with a smile, too wiped out from her lessons to contribute. "And how go your lessons, Buffy?" he asked. She perked up falsely,

"Oh, horribly. I think they've given up on me- thought it more merciful for me to just shock everyone to death."

Faramir laughed and moved to sit down at the last chair beside the fire. "Hardly. If they had not given up on Boromir, I doubt that they would give up on you." Buffy bit her lip to stop herself from laughing at the face Boromir had made at Faramir's words. Faramir took no notice, blithely continuing. "They are extremely pig-headed, those tutors. Why, I was already surpassing Boromir in my lessons when they had finally gotten him to stop roughhousing with the hounds long enough to sit still in the-" any other words he might have said where cut off when Boromir launched himself at his brother, the book forgotten on the chair.

"Lies, Faramir, all lies!" Boromir exclaimed while the two brothers rolled around on the floor laughing like mad. Buffy watched them fondly, laughing as well, knowing how rare it was for them to just let go like that. It seemed that tonight was going to be a break from many conventions.

She eyed the book lying abandoned on the plush seat. With a shrug she grabbed it and flipped to the beginning. If she already had to learn the damn language, she'd better start from somewhere.

**Fin**


	4. Uncertain Future

Title: Uncertain Future

Series: Of Slayers and Knights

Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (book and movie)

Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.

When: pre FOTR, BtVS undetermined

Characters: Buffy/Boromir, Faramir, Denethor

Summary: Faramir watches on as Boromir and Buffy say farewell.

A/N: At long last - a new chapter. I had been busy with the National English competition in Croatia (made 1st place!).

I think we all know that Denethor wasn't such a manic pyro as was portrayed in the movies, right? Right. A little more lighthearted look at the father of our favorite Gondorian duo.

* * *

Faramir watched his brother and the Slayer from the shadows, a sad smile on his face. He stood a little while away, close enough to hear what they were saying, but out of their sight. He, however, could see them perfectly well and what he saw made him want to sigh in exasperation. Those two were worse than those romance novels he had stumbled upon once and Denethor had vigorously denied any knowledge of.

They were standing in the stables where Buffy was making a few last minute preparations before she left for northern lands. Faramir had said his farewells a few scant moments ago and took this opportunity to quietly watch the two dance around one another…again.

Buffy was currently fiddling with her saddle, just shy of obvious stalling. Boromir stood a step or two away, leaning against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable while he watched her double check her saddle fastenings. Faramir had to suppress a snort upon seeing that Buffy was _still_ unsure of her riding skills. The woman rushed headlong into a pack of orcs and she was apprehensive about riding a horse! A sigh from Buffy snapped his attention back to the two figures.

"Well," Buffy said, turning around to face Boromir. His features softened a bit.

"Well," he echoed back. He smiled slightly and Buffy gave a short laugh. She finally met his eyes before saying bluntly,

"This is awkward." The small smile turned into a grin.

"Mmm..." was his only response. Her eyes narrowed and she mock angrily poked him in the chest.

"You're determined to make this hard for me, aren't you?" He shrugged, eyes twinkling with humor.

"I only deemed it fair after all of the trouble you've given me."

Oh Eru, those two were hopeless, Faramir thought from his hiding spot. What was obvious to everybody in sight when the two were together was oblivious to them when they were but two paces apart! They weren't even up to the actual goodbye. Faramir idly wondered if he would have to camp here for the night while the two stared at each other. They had been doing that for the past few days, as if one wished to memorize the other. Ever since those missives and his visions had arrived, in fact.

They, all of them, had known that Buffy would be required to leave sometime, but Faramir had been unsettled that his head-splitting visions had been a prelude to that, arriving just before the letters which called Buffy away. And while Boromir had not said anything on the matter and was not as prone as he to showing the 'gifts' of their bloodlines, Faramir had a sneaking suspicion that he was not the only one to get an early warning of Buffy's departure. Boromir had been ultimately too tense the whole while and Faramir made a mental note to confront him about it later. Right now, he wasn't inclined to interrupt what was a break or make situation. And if anyone else did, they would soon contend with his _boot_ up their _arse_!

Leaving that mental image behind, Faramir turned his attention to the duo once they started speaking again.

"I…uh," Buffy paused for a moment before tightly hugging Boromir. He returned it just as quickly.

"I'll miss you Boro," she said after leaning back a bit, "Don't get into too much trouble now and I'll be sure to bring you a souvenir. Anything sharp and pointy goes, right?"

He laughed then, both of them finally letting go, "Yes, but I would rather that you just returned safely. I will miss you too." A faint smile lingered on his face and Faramir could just swear that Boromir's heart was in his eyes. It was strange seeing his brother so…vulnerable. Faramir strongly wished that he would just get on with it and stop stalling!

"Well, I'd better get going before the day ends," Buffy said and made no move towards her horse. She glanced down at her boots before meeting Boromir's steady gaze again.

A second later, Buffy gave the smallest of sighs before moving to grab her horse's reins. She did not get very far before Boromir suddenly turned her around and kissed her. There was the smallest moment of surprise and shock and then Buffy had her arms wrapped around him and was kissing him back just as fiercely.

They made a strange pair, the tall and broad Gondorian and the small slip of a woman from another world. But it seemed that they would have it no other way.

Faramir had to stifle a whoop of glee when they (finally!) kissed. With a last glance at the lip-locked pair, the broadest smile imaginable plastered on his face, Faramir quietly slipped away. He had a feeling that a herd of rampaging Oliphaunts could pass by them now and they wouldn't have cared. Well, at least he wouldn't be forced to watch their pining and wistful glances anymore. Who would have known that Boromir could be so proud, forceful and straightforward in almost everything _but_ matters of the heart?

**xxx**

The door to the Steward's study closed behind Faramir with a satisfying click alerting his father to his presence. Faramir chose not to comment at the slight scrambling issuing in front of him as a book was thrown over a shoulder, feet were lifted from the desk and the stern Steward mask was set in place. Denethor sat upright in his chair, hands folded over slightly crumpled paperwork, with nothing to signify that anything had been or was amiss.

"I trust that you have a good excuse for disturbing me, Faramir?" he said in a clipped tone, now shuffling through the paperwork, not looking up at his son. Faramir cautiously advanced, his expression blank.

"Mayhap, father," was all that he said. An annoyed glance was aimed toward him as Denethor motioned for him to take a seat in the chair in front of his desk.

"Well?" was the huffy exclamation. Faramir's lips twitched. Who knew how his father would react? He sighed. Denethor's eye twitched.

"They finally did it," Faramir shared with a broad smile. Denethor slammed his hand down on his desk in victory with a smile just as broad – even a small gurgle of excitement escaped him before he composed himself.

"Pay up, Faramir," he said borrowing an expression from Buffy while holding out a hand in expectation, face completely serious. The huge smile on the Steward's face that emerged a moment later was one rarely seen. Faramir groaned and tossed a small bag to his father. A mock scowl crossed his face.

"How did you know that they would finally stop hesitating?" His father snorted.

"Oh, please, Faramir, they had been making doe-eyes at each other for a long time. He might have all of the speed of a snail in such matters, but Boromir would not have let this last chance escape him. I do wonder why the girl had never acted before, though" Denethor replied while savoring one of the rare sweets from the bag – they never betted on money, that being a non-issue with the house of Hurin. And with the rate that Denethor kept winning – he would soon dilapidate Faramir's entire stock!

"So you approve," Faramir ventured again, just to be sure.

"Of course I approve. She's no simpering maiden - whom I suspect would have bored your brother easily and he is among the few in Gondor who can keep up with her. A good match, I would hazard," Denethor replied nonchalantly. Faramir felt a wave of appreciation towards his father. If anything further were to happen between Buffy and Boromir, he would not oppose them. It was a generous decision on Denethor's part, for he was willing to forgo the possibility of a strong political match for his son's happiness.

But…they were getting ahead of themselves. They yet had to see what the future would bring. For now, Faramir would just sit and enjoy this moment with his father. Of course, the fact that Denethor had relented and shared the bag of sweets with him made it even more enjoyable.

**Fin**


	5. In dreams

Title: In Dreams

Series: Of Slayers and Knights

Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (book and movie)

Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.

When: undetermined for BtVS, you'll know for LOTR (or you _should_)

Characters: Buffy/Boromir

Summary: Buffy dreams…

A/N: This idea has been hopping around in my head for a while. While I have a feeling something like this has been done before, I wanted to give it a go. It has mutated slightly from my original intentions.

* * *

Buffy was dreaming. Lately, her dreams took her to this mysterious glade, with its softly swaying leaves, fresh grass and mist gently swirling about. She did not question how she knew he was dreaming, but always there was this awareness in the back of her mind that this fragile haven could be torn from her in a minute and she would wake to the harshness of reality. This place was a balm to her soul, where no darkness crept in despite the eternal twilight the glade was wrapped in. It was peaceful and still. It provided an escape when nightmares threatened and life seemed a burden.

She walked barefooted across the grass, heading towards a large tree with sprawling roots, letting the enchanting atmosphere of the glade fill her. She paused and closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of the wind playing with her hair and the slight, but never uncomfortable, dampness that the mist brought. When she opened them, it was only to see a familiar figure standing a few paces away in a similar position. Buffy smiled, glad to see him. The wind ruffled his shoulder length hair slightly and a faint smile was on his lips. She watched as he relaxed and lines of worry disappeared from his face. Finally, he opened his eyes. His smile broadened at seeing her and she knew that an identical smile was on her face. She walked closer, still looking directly into his eyes, still smiling.

Boromir also took a step closer, all the while fiddling with a pale, delicate flower. He reached out and put it in her hair before she could say anything. Buffy leaned into his caress as he tucked her hair behind her ear, their eyes still locked together. With a sigh she moved into his embrace, closing her eyes at the blissful feeling. She was safe, protected from the world, if only for a few moments. When she was with him, it did not matter that she was the Slayer, that she had a duty to protect the world. They, both of them, forgot their cares and their worries in this little glade, next to the towering trees surrounding them. Each moment was a blessing, but they also knew that it wouldn't last. This dream would fade and both would be back where they belonged, fighting to help keep the world safe.

They pulled back slightly from the embrace, just enough to look into each other's eyes again.

"I feared you wouldn't come," she said softly, not wanting to break the silence. He smiled faintly.

"I will always come if you have need of me," he replied. He led her to the roots of a great tree standing as a silent sentinel nearby. They both sat down and Buffy leaned against Boromir's chest, his arms wrapping around her immediately. He relaxed further and Buffy had a sense that more was troubling him than he wished for her to know. But that did not matter now – all worldly cares vanished in this place, calming and rejuvenating the spirit. Upon waking, however, they could only vaguely recall this sense of peace, their own corner of heaven. It was a price both paid, but it mattered little to them when they were together.

When these dreams had first appeared, they had often talked long through the night, learning about each other and their lives. It had grown from friendship into affection quickly and now they were both content to just spend these precious moments in each other's company, rarely talking.

They sat in quiet contentment, wrapped in each other's arms, exchanging a few kisses and sighs, but mainly just basking in the peace of the moment. Together, as they did so many nights before, they watched and waited for a new day to separate them.

**xxx**

That night was the last Buffy had seen of that glade for a long time. She often tried to reach for it when life became hard, but she was rebuffed every time by a force that darkened her dreams and left her trembling in a half remembered terror. She felt empty upon waking, missing the peace of her dreams and filled with a need to reach out to someone, to help them. These feelings would fade in the course of the day, only to be renewed after a restless night. She dreaded not knowing the reason for her inability to reach the glade, but she also feared what she would find if permitted to step there once more.

**xxx**

The glade was eerily silent; not even the swishing of leaves could be heard. The mist seemed thicker, obscuring the lush grass and climbing around the thick tree trunks. Buffy found herself standing in her – _their,_ haven once more, a renewed dread and sadness filling her. The mystical place had lost that vibrant quality which had made it seem so alive. There were no more soft sounds of the surrounding forest and the atmosphere was no longer comforting. The trees seemed watchful, but all else around her felt dead.

There were no happy smiles, strong arms and warm eyes to welcome her, she was the only spark of life in the forsaken place. It suddenly made all of the long nights spent she had spent alone, waiting to return, even harder to bear. She looked about her, remembering all that had transpired here. A lone tear fell down her cheek. Knowing that he would not come, she let other dreams take her, whisking her away from the deadened glade.

She never dreamed of the peaceful haven again. Instead, upon waking, her mind was filled with swirling mist, calm seas and a lone grey boat under the stars.

**Fin**


	6. A Chance Encounter

Title: A Chance Encounter

Series: Of Slayers and Knights

Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (book and movie)

Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.

When: post ROTK, undetermined for BtVS

Characters: Buffy, Boromir, mention of Willow, Aragorn and Faramir

Summary: It's the night of Faramir's wedding to Eowyn. Much celebrating and…um…drinking ensues.

A/N: A more lighthearted post than my previous one. Enjoy a tipsy Boromir and…ah…a helpful Buffy ;)

* * *

Buffy walked down the stone corridor, glad to be away from all of the noise for a while. Things were getting quite lively in the feasting hall, not in the least due to the vast amounts of alcohol provided for the occasion. She was getting a bit tipsy herself and deciding that she did not want a severe headache, had left for a bit of air. Besides, she could barely move about in this silly dress, how was she supposed to get to her rooms in one piece if she was completely knackered? Right now everything was at a pleasant buzz without the threat of immediate collapse.

She turned around a corner only to slam into the very solid form of one Boromir of Gondor. Surprisingly, it was he that went down headfirst onto the floor, lying flat on his stomach. Mortified and not a little worried, Buffy just stood there in disbelief. That is, she did, until he let out a stream of sounds that sounded suspiciously like giggling.

"Hello-oo-o floor," was the somewhat muffled response that Boromir had.

"Boromir…you're drunk," she said flatly, trying to suppress the laughter that threatened to escape. She nudged him with her foot. There was a mumble of agreement followed by a bit of broken humming. She bit her lip to stop herself from giggling. Who would've thought that Boromir acted like _this _when he got drunk?

"Do you…um…want to get off the floor?"

"Floor so nice. Floor friend," he rolled over, a smile which could only be classed as stupid gracing his face.

"Should I take that as a no?" Buffy leaned over him, unable to hide her wide smile. He blinked and then finally hauled himself up.

"Buffy!" he exclaimed as if he had just seen her. He wobbled a bit and then pointed at her, still inanely giggling.

"Come back inside," a stumbled step towards her, "left to early," he mumbled a bit, "drinks! More…you should have some," another giggle, "Willow is dancing as well."

For someone completely smashed (or well on his way to getting there), Boromir could articulate quite clearly. Still, Buffy was a bit unsure that he was all that coherent.

"Willow is dancing? But she hates dancing here…" she said. Boromir started nodding quite vigorously.

"Dancing…table…spilled my drink," now he was pouting and it was all Buffy could do to not laugh. It was endearing how such a childish gesture seemed out of place on him. And Willow dancing on a table? Buffy wished she had a camera.

Boromir wobbled a bit more, making Buffy realize that she should get him away from the nearby sounds of revelry in case he wanted to drink even more. Which he did, evidenced by his unsteady steps back towards the hall, Buffy seemingly forgotten. Not that it wasn't amusing seeing the normally collected person acting like a kid with too much sugar, but Buffy just didn't want to deal with the aftereffects of a night like this. She had it from reliable sources that he woke up in an extremely foul mood after drinking too much. Not that it stopped him apparently. Then again it _was _his brother's wedding celebration. He was entitled to a bit of fun.

Deftly and before she could change her mind, she started to steer him into one of the gardens outside, hoping that the fresh air would do him some good. He made no complaints, instead choosing to gurgle happily as he put an arm around her to steady himself.

"Where're we going?" he obliviously asked.

"I should be putting you in bed, but it's the gardens for us. They're closer anyway. Besides, I don't trust you with that huge tub you have when you're in this state."

"Flowers pretty." The other things she had said had gone over his head completely. She had to keep herself from giggling again. He was utterly adorable when drunk.

"Whatever would your brother say if he saw you like this?" she had to wonder.

"Faramir preoccupied right now. Trying to get away without everybody watching him," Boromir nodded sagely, as if imparting a great secret, "Aragorn too pissed to care. Passed out under the table. Saw his feet when I left." He giggled again and this time Buffy joined in with a short laugh herself. It seemed as if Boromir could hold his drink better than the king of the reunified realms of Gondor and Arnor.

She led him to a stone bench nearest to the door when they arrived in the small garden. He almost fell over when she sat him down. Finally, she managed to arrange him into some semblance of order before sitting down herself. When she looked at him again, she had to suppress another giggle. He was leaning _way_ back, threatening to topple over again.

"Shiny," was all he said, in an enraptured voice. Buffy risked a quick glance upwards before reaching to catch him _just_ as he was about to fall down again. The stars were indeed beautiful and…shiny, but she was more preoccupied with saving that thick head of his!

"Careful, Boro. Wouldn't want to damage what little brains you have left in your head," she teased.

"Bollocks," he mumbled, "nothing there…" this was ended with a huge yawn. The alcohol was finally getting to him. As he laid his head on her shoulder, Buffy belatedly realized that she should have moved him to his rooms a bit sooner. For all of her Slayer strength, he wasn't exactly the smallest thing in the world to move around when incoherent.

Resigning herself to spending a few hours here until he had sobered up a bit, Buffy gently moved his head from her shoulders to her lap. With a bit more careful work so she didn't wake him, she also managed to pull his legs up on the bench too.

Then she leaned back against the cool stone wall, idly running her fingers through his hair. A soft smile appeared on her face as she observed his peaceful features.

"Sweet dreams, Boro."

**Fin**


	7. The Crossing at Tharbad

Title: The Crossing at Tharbad

Series: Of Slayers and Knights

Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (book and movie)

Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.

When: pre FOTR, undetermined for BtVS

Characters: Buffy, Boromir, Nazgûl

Summary: At the crossing of Tharbad, Buffy and Boromir have an unpleasant encounter with the nine Ringwraiths, who are also looking to cross the ruined bridge into Eriador.

A/N: I'm a bad, bad person for not updating in so long. I have no excuses and I don't really think that you'd be interested in hearing them even if I did have them.

**xxx **

"This place is giving me the wiggins, Boro," Buffy skittishly stated as she and Boromir led their horses through the ancient ruins of Tharbad. Whatever remained of the city was deserted, but the atmosphere was not wholly one of doom and gloom, despite the stillness. The silence was broken by the Greyflood river rushing past somewhere ahead of them in the darkness.

Boromir slowed slightly at the unfamiliar phrase, brow wrinkling in confusion.

"The…wiggins, Buffy?" he turned to her, trying but unable to read her expression in the light of the flickering torches they both held. More often than not, her body language clued him in on the meaning behind her butchering of the Common Tongue.

"Um…the creeps?"

He continued to look at her blankly.

"The chills? Um, heebie-jeebies? Jitters? Willies?"

She sighed when he shook his head in even more confusion.

"When we get to a place where we will stay for more than a day, I am _so _getting you a dictionary, Boro," she grimaced slightly, "or, you know, a crash course in Buffy-speak…since I never wrote a dictionary on it and I'm the only one in this dimension who talks like this."

"And you will be the only one who ever will," Boromir said with a smirk. "At least if I have any say in it," he muttered under his breath.

"Why Boro, having problems keeping up with my witty and refreshing dialogue?"

"Your family would have trouble keeping up with your way of speaking, let alone someone not of your world," he remarked dryly.

"And do not call me that," he added as an afterthought, once again trying to pierce the shadows beyond the torchlight, wary of any dangers lurking in the darkness. Buffy shook her head impishly; pushing aside the disquiet this place brought her.

"I'm afraid that as long as you're stuck with me, you're stuck with the name."

"Then I shall have to endeavor to find a high cliff to throw you off of. Barring that - and any maiming I would procure before your fall - I could always throw myself off," he said, glancing at the amused woman, "then again, I could always gag you. Tis a long way to Rivendell and I would be grateful for the quiet." Her eyes narrowed. She knew perfectly well that both of them would have gone crazy without the other to talk to. She did not really wish to wonder what it would have been like if she had been traveling by herself. The paranoia alone would probably have killed her.

"You wouldn't dare." All she got from him as a response was an upraised eyebrow – a gesture she was quickly learning to loathe. She had come to the conclusion that it was a thing only the nobility of this world could pull off with such effect. Even practicing for hours in front of her mirror failed to make the gesture convey the sheer mocking, indifference and arrogance that Boromir and especially Denethor could positively _radiate_ when using it themselves. Or maybe it was just a Hurin thing; even Faramir used it to full effect occasionally, while none of the other nobles in Minas Tirith could. Buffy frankly thought that the others' efforts to do so made them look silly. One noble actually managed to look constipated.

Buffy glared at Boromir for daring to use 'the eyebrow'. She knew he did it only to irritate her, but that did not make it any less annoying. Of course, when aimed at others, it was a vast and legitimate source of entertainment for the whole family. Boromir's twitching lips threatened to form a smirk – another thing high on the 'Don't direct at Buffy' list. Buffy glared harder.

Her horse suddenly reared, snapping both of them out of their staring contest. As she moved to calm it, Boromir tried to scan the area around them keeping a firm grip on his horse's reins. The sad remains of Tharbad sprawled around them, barely visible beyond the light, with only deep shadows and faint silhouettes indicating the presence of potential obstacles. The sudden silence was only broken by their breathing, the loud gurgling of the river and the hiss and crackle of the torches. No movement could be discerned among the rubble and walls which had managed to stay upright over the long course of years.

"We should not have tarried. The stillness of this place unnerves me. It is not natural," He said in a low voice, looking about intently.

Buffy shot him a slightly incredulous look.

"Well, that's what I was trying to tell you a moment ago, but then you had to get all snotty about me calling you Boro and-" her rant was muffled by his gloved hand. She did not notice his frozen posture and was just about to shove him away and start a _real _tirade, when he hissed in her ear, "We are not alone."

She stiffened in shock before reaching out with her senses, a small corner of her miffed that Boromir had sensed something first. What she felt on the barest edge of her awareness chilled her blood. It flickered in and out of her Slayer enhanced senses, more like an emptiness than a presence. The feeling was frighteningly familiar. Beyond the light, she could just barely make out something moving, a darker, deeper shadow than the ones surrounding it. _There's more than one of those things_, she realized with another chill.

Boromir finally removed his slightly shaking hand from her face and she spun around to face him. A part of her absently noted how pale he seemed.

"_What _in the Hell is that?" she asked in a barely audible hiss, a primal part of her only aware that she did not want to encounter those _things_ under any circumstances. They felt like a perversion, something terrible and unnatural. _Nothing _at home felt like this, not even the Hellmouth.

"Nazgûl," he breathed. Buffy suppressed a shiver, not liking the effect they had on him. If Boromir was unnerved…well, it made a part of her want to hide. The Slayer part, however, was getting ready to rumble.

She whipped around and started rummaging in her pack. A sudden screech signaled that the Ringwraiths had finally noticed them; though why it had taken them so long was a thing they were both grateful not to question.

Trying to ignore the agony that the noise brought him, Boromir swiftly unsheathed his sword, slipping easily into a battle stance. He glanced at Buffy, who was still tensely looking through her pack and snapped, "Leave the forsaken stake, Buffy! It will do you little good against the Nine!" Ignoring him, she finally whipped out Mr. Pointy with a flourish, only to drop it as the sound of thundering hoof beats reached her. Another piercing shriek sounded, quickly followed by more as the Black Riders swarmed upon the two.

Buffy dove out of the way of a charging horse, tucking into a roll. Her ears were ringing from the Nazgûl's screams, as she barely managed to hold on to her torch. She caught a glimpse of Boromir fighting off two at once, brandishing his torch like a second sword; another near him was on fire, screeching horribly. Then she had no more time to worry about him as two swooped down on her. She rammed her own torch into one, ducking the other's sword while pulling out her own. She aimed a cut at its midsection and lit its robes of fire when it blocked her. More hoof beats sounded and she threw herself out of the way of the incoming rider, slashing across the horses forelegs.

Horse and rider screamed as the Slayer came upon them. The Nazgûl moved to get off the injured animal when Buffy gave it a head blow with the flaming torch hard enough to knock it a few meters away. She whirled to deflect another attack from an approaching Nazgûl. She dismissed a random thought on the whereabouts of its horse, before engaging it in a swordfight.

A sudden stillness swept across the area after she had sent her last opponent screeching towards the river with its robes on fire. She searched for Boromir and found him delivering a killing blow on one of the horses, silencing its painful neighing. He staggered a bit after straightening, but she couldn't see if he had any injuries in the light of the two torches and one flaming nearby bush. Boromir's torch lay next to it, sputtering occasionally.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief, glad that they had managed to drive the Nazgûl off. She harboured no illusions that they did much damage to them – she could still feel them on the edges of her senses, flickering in and out of focus. At that moment she froze. She heard Boromir's sudden intake of breath and slow, deliberate hoof beats. A chill swept through her as she sensed another of the things behind her. This one was different. It seemed stronger, more aware, more intense.

She slowly turned to face the threat and her breath caught in her throat at the terror the tall figure on the horse exuded. It was a familiar feeling and it suddenly occurred to her where she had last felt it. The battle at Osgilliath had been a disaster, no thanks to a raging and unseen terror sweeping through Gondor's soldiers. Now she knew the cause of it. Buffy grimly clutched her sword firmer.

Finally, the black horse halted a few paces in front of her. Its rider was cloaked in black, no different than the rest, but hiding an aura of greater power and terror. Buffy fancied she could see two glowing eyes in the darkness under its hood. She shivered. The Nazgûl straightened and an eerie sniffing sound came from it.

"Slayer," it hissed.

"Slayee," she countered with a confidence she had trouble feeling, "or should I say fashion victim? Black robes are _so _five hundred years ago." Instead of letting out one of those head splitting screeches or reacting in anger like she had expected, the black shrouded figure merely laughed. It had an unpleasant grating sound, like scratching nails on a chalkboard. Not very different from their screams, actually.

"You have spirit…good. My master shall enjoy extinguishing it, stripping you of everything you are…leaving you bare before his eye, a mere shadow of yourself…" it was all spoken in a low hiss, as equally harsh and rasping as the rest of its vocalizations. Buffy felt another shiver run through her, nauseated by the unpleasant feelings the voice evoked. Then she steeled herself.

"Oh, please! I suppose now is the part where you tell me all of that can be avoided if I just gave up my good guy ways and joined your 'master' hand in hand while we went on a romantic killing spree throughout Middle-earth? Maybe a little quality beheading of those 'who dared oppose our might'? Then I'd have 'power beyond my comprehension', right?"

The Nazgûl seemed a little taken aback, before it leaned forward in its saddle and hissed.

"You would do well to join my master, mortal. He would reward you greatly."

Buffy lowered her sword slightly and cocked her head to the side, contemplating it.

"Honey - and I use this term loosely - if it means having to go about riding on horses, acquiring those lovely singing voices and changing my wardrobe to something even Angel wouldn't wear…you have got to be kidding me!"

The Nazgûl reared back as if struck before screaming.

"You fool! The Dark Lord does not take rejection lightly! I shall deliver your head to him myse-" the rest was cut off by a flaming torch hurled at the Nazgûl. Buffy spared no thought as to where it came from, but launched herself at the horse and rider. A quick slash downed the horse as she tried to ignore the horrible screeches coming from the burning Ringwraith. An acrid smoke filled the air around it. Buffy tried to ignore the terror she felt, pushing it to the back of her mind. Just as she was about to thrust her sword into the Nazgûl, it spun and blocked her sword with its gauntleted fist. It leaned into her, its foul unneeded breath washing over her while she tried and failed to quell the fear rising in her. Buffy choked on the fumes coming from his smoking and still burning form. Tears sprang to her eyes as she tried to see through the haze, unable to move.

All of a sudden it arched its back and screeched. Buffy could barely pick out the sheen of metal coming out through its chest before she was flung to her knees. Fast as lightening, the Nazgûl backhanded the person who had struck it. _Boromir! _Buffy belatedly realized as she coughed, trying to ease the ache in her throat. Finally, she managed to look up and see it looming over Boromir's sprawled figure. She stumbled to her feet, watching in growing horror. The Nazgûl reached down, gripping Boromir's throat, lifting him off the ground. She dazedly saw the dark streak of blood on Boromir's face in the dying light of the burning bush. His smoking and shattered sword fell out of his limp hand. Buffy willed herself to move faster, to reach for her sword lying discarded a few paces ahead of her, but she found it was a struggle to stand with her stinging eyes, sore throat and burning lungs. That low grating laugh reached her again and she realized that the Nazgûl was speaking to his barely conscious captive.

"You fool! No man can kill me!" It hissed at him. "My master will be pleased to have finally caught the Captain General of Gondor's armies, heir to the Stewardship, beloved of his people…Boromir the Tall…Boromir the Fair…Boromir the bo-"

It cut off abruptly to look at the second sword sticking through its chest that night.

"Ringwraith the permanently dead," Buffy said forcefully and pulled her sword out, "Good thing I'm not a man or this moment would have lost all of its charm." She decapitated the Ringwraith, which was too shocked to even let out another scream. But before she could fully run her sword through its neck, the Nazgûl imploded. Buffy staggered a few steps backwards, looking at the tattered robes and armor in grim satisfaction.

"I bet you're real glad you took me along on your little trip huh, Boro?" She frowned when he didn't reply. "Boromir?" Buffy looked up from the Nazgûl's remains, now barely visible in the darkness, only to find him lying in an unmoving heap beside them.

"No, oh no. No, no, not now, not him." She fell onto her knees beside him, eyes filling with tears. "Boro? Come on, you big lug. Don't do this, not now." She hesitated to touch him, not wishing to confirm her fears.

Buffy almost sobbed in relief when she saw him faintly moving. She gently moved him into a more comfortable position and put his head in her lap, needing to reassure herself that he was alive. Boromir moaned in pain and she winced in sympathy as she brushed his hair from the still bleeding wound near his temple.

"Easy, Boro. You really took a punch back there. We kicked some major Nazgûl ass. We beat them back and at least one of them won't be wailing around anymore." She found herself staring in pain filled eyes. Buffy smiled softly.

"Nice to see you back among the conscious, Boro."

He gave a short laugh before wincing and putting an arm to his chest. His tone was incredulous and strained when he said, "Back among the conscious? I am lucky to be counted among the living," he grimaced, "…barely. Buffy, you slew the Witchking, the leader of the Nine…that is no small feat."

"Yeah, well, all in a days work for the Slayer, you know," she said, absurdly pleased by his praise, "Wait, how did you know that was the Witchking? Not like he had a big sign proclaiming it to the world…"

"Only such a pompous arse as the leader of the Nine would stay back and not get involved…until it was time to spout death threats and long…diatribes," he murmured, beginning to slip back into unconsciousness.

"Oh no, no you don't. How many times do I have to tell you that you shouldn't go to sleep after a blow in the head?" She poked him to get him to focus on her. "At this rate, you'll break Giles' record of concussions. Good thing you have such a hard head, Boro."

He smiled faintly, struggling to keep awake. Determined to pester him so he wouldn't pass out, Buffy quickly lit a small fire before returning to his side. By its glow, she treated his injuries the best she could, poking him in the ribs occasionally and keeping up a constant stream of babble. Finished, she pulled his head back into her lap to better keep track of his wakefulness.

**xxx **

Dawn found him finally asleep with Buffy stroking his hair, absently staring into the distance. The remains of Tharbad were still, with only the rushing river breaking the silence.

**Fin**


	8. Bitter Rain

Title: Bitter Rain

Series: Of Slayers and Knights

Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (more book in this case)

Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.

When: pre FOTR, undetermined for BtVS

Characters: implied Buffy/Boromir, Faramir, Denethor

Summary: Dreams haunt Buffy after she brings a heavily wounded Boromir to Minas Tirith.

A/N: Sequel to 'Aftershock'. I suggest you read that first. I think I went a bit overboard with this though… Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter! The next one will be happier, promise :) And the reason for the lateness of this one would be school.

* * *

Exhaustion pulled at the Slayer as she half carried, half dragged Boromir through the mud, rain pouring over them. Lightening illuminated her way frequently, followed by deafening thunder overhead. Ahead, she could barely make out the outline of the Rammas Echor through the downpour. She was slowly starting to despair of reaching a shelter of any kind before it was too late. Boromir seemed to get heavier as each minute passed and she was well past her endurance. He had not woken up once since she had carried him away from the river bank. 

Still, Buffy kept on walking, moving barely faster than a crawl. She was covered in mud, her companion even more so. Her footing was precarious on the slick ground and she had fallen many times. Only the fact that Boromir depended on her made her struggle on.

A bolt of lightening hit the ground nearby; the noise from the resulting thunder shocking her into slipping again to the muddy ground. Buffy choked back sobs of frustration, her tears already unnoticeable from the rain. She crawled the short distance to the unconscious body beside her.

Her fingers curled around his sopping wet tunic, weakly trying to pull him along. Buffy soon collapsed against his chest, spent of her strength, beaten down by despair and still in shock from the plunge into the icy waters of the Anduin. Her back ached from the blow she had received and her head spun from the near drowning. She sobbed against the unmoving figure, still clutching a part of his tunic.

Blackness crept along the edges of her vision threatening to pull her into unconsciousness. Just before her weakened body failed her, she noticed that the comforting thumping under her ear was growing fainter.

**xxx **

She was wrapped in warmth, surrounded by a comforting softness. Faint noises reached her; hushed voices talking, the rustling of crisp clean sheets and soft footsteps. The faint smell of various herbs hung in the air, pulling her away from the tempting oblivion of sleep. She blearily opened her eyes to stone walls, lit by the soft glow of candles and a crackling fire.

Now more aware, she also noticed the howling wind and familiar rumbling of thunder outside. After a few more moments, a raging headache announced itself. Her whole body felt strained and weak.

A shadow past over her and she looked up into the weary and bruised face of one Faramir of Gondor. Buffy smiled with relief upon seeing Faramir alive and well. He had been among the soldiers who were upon the bridge when it had fallen.

He raised a hand before she could speak.

"Do not talk yet, Buffy. Rest, for you have safely arrived in the Houses of Healing. A search party found you near the Rammas Echor."

"Boro…" she weakly coughed. "Where's Boromir?" she rasped quietly, her throat sore and dry. Faramir handed her a cup of water, supporting her head while she drank. Sighing, he put it down on the small table beside the bed and sat in a chair nearby.

"He is alive," Faramir said. Buffy sighed in relief and relaxed into the soft mattress. Faramir's face was grave upon his next words, "But he has a raging fever. It has shown no signs of abating. Yours broke only this morning."

Buffy frowned in confusion and worry. Faramir cut her off just as she was opening her mouth to speak.

"You must rest, Buffy. Both of you almost died. If you had been found a mere hour later, it is likely that neither of you would have survived. As it is…" he paused, with face drawn with worry before he shook his head, "…never mind that as of yet. Sleep, Dagnir, I will tell you more on the 'morrow. Rest for now, regain your strength…"

Worried though she was Buffy soon fell asleep, lulled by Faramir's voice.

**xxx **

_She was standing on a plain, empty but for the long grass being buffeted by the wind. She watched them for a moment, mesmerized by their swaying under the bright sky. Wisps of white clouds lazily stretched across the sky, making her smile. She laughed in delight and twirled, forgetting her troubles and worries. As she turned, she glimpsed high mountain ranges in the distance, their peaks surrounded by mist. _

_She paused in her childish glee upon seeing dark mountains. She frowned. Such a gloomy sight had no place here, where everything was fresh and carefree. As she watched, the sky over the strange jagged mountains grew dark. The wind grew stronger, flattening the grass. Dark clouds formed; she could barely make out the faint flashes of lightening searing across them. _

_A feeling of foreboding grew in her. A shadow fell across the ground, but she continued to watch, unable to tear her gaze away. The wind howled in her ears, grating and unpleasant._

_'Ash nazg…Ash nazg…'_

_With growing fear, she looked about, seeing the dark clouds advancing towards her. She backed away, but the once long and healthy grass, now rotting and filled with decay, clung at her dress, making her stumble. _

_'Ash nazg durbatuluk…'_

_She was blinded by the sudden lightening overhead, thunder swiftly following. Another flash of lightening came and she was soon soaked to the bone by the chilling rain. It clung to her skin like oil and tasted bitter. _

_'Ash nazg gimbatul…'_

_Finally, she ran, trying to get away from the aura of evil pervading the place. Her skin tingled unpleasantly, like she was being watched. She did not turn however, but kept running, slipping on the muddy ground, tearing her dress on the thorns now growing across the plain._

_'Ash nazg thrakatuluk…'_

_Inevitably she fell. She tried to scramble up, but thorns cut her face and hands, tangling in her hair. Her dress was in tatters, covered in mud. Her blond hair hung in dark limp strings and rain dripped down her face. She sobbed, furiously untangling herself and stumbling to her feet. _

_'Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul…'_

_Suddenly she was running up the tall mountain of Meneltarma. Rain still pelted at her, but the earth beneath her feet was now trembling violently. In the distance, the sky was red from the destructive fires and screams filled the air. Before she could wonder at the change of scene or the reason for her sudden despair, she pitched forward, falling to the shaking ground. A rushing roar sounded and she cried to the sky as the turbulent tidal wave overtook her. _

_'Ash nazg…'_

_The city was burning, filled with the screams of women and children. She stood in the middle of the chaos, watching as orcs slaughtered the people around her with glee. The long dead White Tree was in flames, spouting an acrid plume of smoke into the sky. Before the fire completely engulfed the Tower of Ecthelion, she glimpsed an eerie pale light flickering at its top._

_'Ash nazg…'_

_Inky darkness surrounded her in the cold caverns. Tapping noises echoed around her, followed by shrill cries and grunts, the clanking of chains and hammer blows. A sudden silence descended. She whirled around, facing the presence she felt behind her. The complete darkness was broken by two eyes in the dark, glowing like coals. Her sudden scream was cut off when her vision exploded in shadow and flame. _

_'Ash nazg…'_

_Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed before her. Her face was aglow in the mixed light of silver and gold, showing her awe at the sight. A sudden shadow fell upon the gathering of the Firstborn and amidst the screams of confusion and fear, the light of Laurelin and Telperion withered and died and darkness descended upon the world._

_'Ash nazg…'_

_She was pushed aside to the ground by the fleeing populace of the city. Drums sounded around her and the wails of war horns filled her ears. Ahead of her, fair elves were swept away by Sauron's might, killed without mercy. Bile rose in her throat when she glimpsed His horrifying banner - the body of Celebrimbor impaled on a bloody pole. _

_'Ash nazg…'_

_She choked on the gritty air, every breath a struggle. Heady fumes made her weak and dizzy, but she still crawled across the jagged rocks, ignoring her bleeding hands and feet. Ahead of her, smoke and occasional bouts of flame poured out of the mountain. She could not remember why, but she had to reach its summit. _

_'Slayer…'_

_Grating cries and shrieks surrounded her, filling her with terror. But it all paled in front of the horrible laughter echoing from the tall tower in the distance. Her skin felt like it was burning from His gaze._

_'I see you…'_

**xxx**

Buffy awoke with a sudden gasp, sitting upright. She was drenched in sweat, heart racing, still trembling from the nightmare. She sighed with relief upon seeing the comforting surroundings of the Houses of Healing. Running her hands through her hair, she winced as she felt the mass of tangles. Still not free of the disquieting feeling, she slowly got out of the bed, tripping slightly on her long nightgown as she made her way towards the window.

The stone floor was cool beneath her feet, a relief after the nightmare. Looking out to the city, she idly noted that the storm had abated. Everything was peaceful under the night sky and she could even see a few brave stars shining through the lingering clouds. A slight flickering at the edges of her vision caught her attention. She turned her head and frowned upon seeing the pale light coming from the top of the Tower of Ecthelion. Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember where she had seen that before...

"Buffy," a soft voice interrupted her musings. She quickly turned to face the speaker and smiled in relief upon seeing Faramir framed in the doorway. It faded however when she saw his tired face and the defeated slump of his shoulders.

"You should not be up yet," he started, taking a few steps forward. Buffy cut him off quickly.

"Never mind me, I feel fine. What's wrong?"

"Boromir…"

A sudden fear gripped her. "What about Boromir?" she tremulously asked. It couldn't be, not now, not after she had brought them to safety.

"He has a high fever. Three days have passed since you have been brought here and yet it has not lessened. If it had just been that…it would be different, but he has also suffered a head injury. He has three broken ribs and that deep gash in his leg. Not to mention that he must be exhausted after the long bat-"

"Faramir," Buffy bit out, "the point?" But she already feared she knew. Faramir rubbed his forehead sighing. Softly he said,

"The Healers have little hope of him surviving the fever. The battle and his other injuries have sapped him of his strength; he cannot fight the sickness…They say it's a miracle that he has made it so far and so long."

"No…" She hugged herself, "Not him, no. We made it back, I brought him back." Tears slipped down her cheeks. Faramir gently hugged her. She pressed her face against his chest, one hand gripping his tunic.

"It's not fair," she sobbed lightly, "it's not fair. He fought so hard. I almost died bringing him home…it's not fair," she finished in a whisper. Faramir just held her as she cried against his chest, not noticing his own tears.

**xxx**

Buffy sneaked into Boromir's room in the dead of night, unable to sleep yet again. Her dreams did not have the intensity of the nightmare she had had upon waking a week ago, but they nevertheless left her unable to sleep and twitching at every sound. The cryptic dreams also left her with headaches and so she had taken to wandering the Citadel like a ghost. More often than not, she found herself here, just silently watching him.

He seemed so weak, lying against the white sheets, with sweat on his brow and damp hair. His breathing was laboured despite the bandages wrapped around his chest. One side of his face was bruised, contrasting with the rest of it which was pale in spite of the fever he still had. Only a light sheet covered him, already tangled from his movements. He would mumble things occasionally, tossing and turning, often moaning as the movement jarred his ribs.

It broke her heart every time she saw him like this. She missed the strong warrior filled with life, who would not hesitate to meet her head on, despite her being a woman. She wanted the sarcastic warrior with the dry wit to wake up so she could banter with him or just spend some time goofing around. She wanted to see him deny taking Faramir's books to read, she wanted to spar with him, see him be the big brother, the accomplished captain, the dutiful son…hell, she would even welcome him yelling at her while he was recovering from hangovers. Anything but this pale shell of the man, who was now shivering from the cool air.

Sighing, Buffy gently covered him with a blanket. She sat down at the ever-present chair next to his bed, reaching out and brushing his hair back from his face. She smiled softly when he leaned into her touch, but it faded when she felt the heat coming from his skin. There had been no change in his condition, even after a week. Holding back tears, she held his hand and continued stroking his hair.

Oddly comforted by the repetitive action, she soon fell asleep, his hand still firmly clutched in her own.

**xxx**

_Once again, she found herself standing on the plain amidst the tall grass. Dark clouds from the East rolled across the land towards her. Fear filled her. The wind picked up, but unlike last time, it was not as harsh. It seemed to whisper to her, but she could not make out all of the words or the language._

_'…hta Macilen ya né rá...dessë máras…rinë márë equesiyo…Morculu-carmë……ssë,an Isilduro nwalcólë……Peryanér etortuva…'_

_She shivered at the strange words, not entirely certain if she wanted to know what they meant. She turned, drawn by the voices, to face the West. A pale light lingered there on the horizon and she could hear the whispering echoes more clearly. _

_'…Ya Mandë ná harë mássë…'_

_The light flickered and shifted, taking on a reddish hue._

_'…Isilduro nwalcólë…'_

_As the light grew stronger, rushing to meet her, the whispers grew more agitated. The words came faster, blurred together, becoming lost in the rising wind. The light shone across the sky in fiery streaks, drawing upon itself until it formed a sphere in her hand. Helpless, she gazed into its depths. The light inside the darkened glass sphere churned restlessly, illuminating her face in a sickly glow. _

_The ball cracked, fissures etching themselves upon its surface before it exploded, sweeping her away in its light. Visions sprawled before her eyes, a cacophony of colour and sound._

_…a shattered sword amidst a wasteland…_

_…a flood sweeping away black shapes…_

_'…my sons are spent…'_

_…nine ships on turbulent waters…_

_… a tall, black shrouded figure: 'No living man may hinder me!'_

_… a regal elf dressed in rich robes :'…he arrived in the grey morning…'_

_… glowing eyes in the dark: '…my precious…'_

_…dead faces in murky water…_

_…a spout of fire spreading through a long tunnel…_

_… the light of a forge, a figure silhouetted against it…_

_… Denethor raging at an unseen figure: 'Didst thou think that the eyes of the White Tower were blind!'_

_… a man with the bearing of Númenorean kings sitting upon a horse: 'Let the lord of the Black Land come forth!'_

_…a figure lying sprawled under a tree, arrows protruding from his chest…_

…_an elf singing under a silver tree…_

_…a pale Faramir lying on a bed: 'My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?'_

_'Tinuviel!'_

_…a sapling of a white tree…_

_…dark clouds spreading over the land…_

_… an old woman with sea-grey eyes: 'Ónen i-estel Edain…'_

_…a grey boat floating down the river filled with clear water…_

_…winged beasts flying over a battle field, their riders clad in black…_

_… hundreds of riders thundering upon a plain: 'Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending!'_

_… a woman with golden hair brandishing a sword: 'For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.'_

_…a person burning upon a pyre…_

_'Do not touch the water!'_

…_two small figures standing before a chasm…_

_…a ring of gold upon a black hand…_

_'Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!'_

_…an old man in shining white robes: '…there will be no dawn…'_

_…ageless blue eyes and a lyrical voice whispering: '…you think you know, who you are, what is to come…you haven't even begun…'_  
_…a burning red eye, searing through her…_

**xxx**

"M'lady?"  
Buffy jerked awake at the words and the light touch on her shoulder. She looked around wildly before focusing on the concerned Healer beside her.

"M'lady, are you well?" he asked again. She absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair, still shaken, her gaze landing upon the restless figure on the bed. She had fallen asleep beside Boromir…again. Light fell into the room through the open windows. It was well past dawn.

"Um…yeah…I just…How is he?" she asked, already knowing the answer from his sweaty brow.

"He is unchanged m'lady," The Healer noted sadly. She just nodded, rising slowly from her seat. Pensively, she left the room with a last glance towards Boromir, leaving the Healer to tend to his patient.

**xxx**

As she walked down the corridor, Buffy mused on her dream. It had been similar to the first one, but it hadn't been so focused on doom and gloom. Or maybe just not so focused on scaring the living daylights out of her. The first one had been terrifying, but this one seemed more…prophetic. Trust the PTB's to badger her with Slayer dreams even here. Even now, the strange words from the beginning echoed in her ears. She willed them to make sense.

Lost in her thoughts, she failed to evade the person heading straight towards her. She bumped into him, sending her sprawling on the floor. Faramir, startled, dropped the paper he had been poring over. He blinked.

"Buffy? My apologies, I'm afraid that I have been a bit absorbed in reading my paper to have noticed you," he held out his hand to help her up. She glared at it, mumbling under her breath about freakishly tall Gondorians before accepting it. She clutched Faramir's dropped paper in her other hand.

"Yeah, yeah, and this is different from all of the other occasions we did this...how?"

Both of them smiled, glad for the bit of humor in an otherwise bleak week. Make that couple of weeks.

"And what has you so fascinated this time, bookworm?" she glanced at the paper and blanched.

"Buffy?" he said, concerned, disregarding for the moment the hated nickname (no matter how accurate), "What is it?"

She laughed shakily and looked up at him, beyond wondering how the words made sense to her all of a sudden, "You…um, wouldn't have happened to have dreamt these verses, by any chance?"

It was his turn to pale. Slowly, as if in a trance he said, "In a dream I saw the eastern sky grow dark…"

"But a pale light lingered in the West," she continued.

"A voice cried…"

"Doom is at hand…"

"Isildur's Bane," he finished in a whisper, both of them staring at each other in wonder. Finally, Buffy broke the silence.

"So…um, up for a bit of research?"

**xxx**

"Absolutely not, Dagnir!" Denethor bit out, rising from behind his desk, glaring at the determined Slayer in front of him. She glared right back. "I am not sending one of my best captains traipsing around half of Middle-earth while war is almost upon us!"

"With all due respect, my lord," she said through gritted teeth, "Both Faramir and I have been having the same dreams for the past three days! I'm growing so paranoid I even thought I heard Boromir mumbling part of the damn riddle! Somebody has to go to Rivendell and I'm the best choice!" she forcibly calmed herself down, "Faramir is needed here and Boromir-" she stopped abruptly at the thunderous look on Denethor's weary face.

"Take heed, Dagnir," he said softly, "that you do not overstep your bounds." Had she been anything but a Slayer, that voice would have sent shivers up her spine from fear. As it was, Buffy just stood her ground. "If need be, I shall send Faramir. Your riddle mentions counsels and he has always been far more eager to play the diplomat instead of the warrior." The last part was said in a faintly mocking tone that made her blood boil.

"And you think that I could lead Gondor's army in war? Newsflash, Denethor! I'm a Slayer – I fight alone; I'm not built to lead an army! I'd get them all killed. The troops may respect me even though I'm a woman, but your sons are ultimately the only ones they would trust to lead them!" Her short rant over, she calmed down somewhat, still prepared to argue her case.

Denethor was silent, his face giving no indication of how he felt. He moved from behind his desk to look out of the window, mulling over the problem. Buffy wisely stayed silent as well, although she was itching to badger him into letting her go. Finally, Denethor turned to look at her for a long moment with those steel grey eyes. She caught her breath at how...weary and sad he looked, almost despairing.

"Very well, Dagnir. You have my leave to follow this riddle. I hope to Eru that I am not making a grave mistake, but I shall put my faith in you. Return as quickly as you are able and mayhap this country will have a measure of hope again, for I am quickly loosing mine." He finished in a bitter tone.

Buffy bit back the frown that threatened to emerge. It had taken the better part of two days for them to convince Denethor to give them leave, she was not about to have it revoked. Faramir was still in the library, researching. It had taken her surprisingly little time to convince him that she should go. For all of his love of elves, it seemed Faramir would put his people first (although she had to promise him to bring back a book or ten).

Finally, after it was obvious no more was forthcoming, she just nodded and left while Denethor sat at his desk, staring into the distance.

**xxx**

Buffy slipped into Boromir's room again, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She made her way to the chair beside his bed, noting how he still looked deathly pale. As much as she didn't wish to leave while he was still ill, she had no choice. Sighing, she took his hand again.

"Well, Boro, looks like you'll finally be rid of me," she began with a weak smile, "the damn PTB's came a callin' and I have to scamper off to do their bidding…I normally wouldn't, but I feel this is so much bigger than usual…"she sighed, "I'm crap at goodbyes, Boro. You'd think with one of the party being unconscious and all, it'd be easier, but nooo…" She absentmindedly caressed his hand, momentarily lost in thought.

"You need to get better," her voice cracked, "for me, Boro…please?" When no reply was forthcoming, she gently disentangled her hand and kissed his brow. "See you Boro…"

She started a bit when he moved, but smiled in delight when she heard the barely audible words, "Don't…call me…that…"

His eyes were still closed, his face was still pale, but his hand clutched firmly in her own was no longer warm with fever. Buffy knew that she should bellow for the healers or send for Denethor, but she just sat there, feeling ecstatic. There was hope yet.

* * *

**Fin**

A/N: I think you can all recognize the Ring verse in the Black speech in the first dream. The elvish bits in the second dream was the Quenya translation for the riddle (curtesy of the Council of Elrond). Dagnir is elvish for Slayer.


	9. Campfire Tales

Title: Campfire Tales

Series: Of Slayers and Knights

Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (more book in this case)

Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.

When: pre FOTR, after season 3 of BtVS

Characters: Buffy, Boromir

Summary: Letting go of the past is never easy. Boromir and Buffy talk.

A/N: Not really long and with no particular plot. Sorry it's been so long, but the inspiration wasn't really there. Any suggestions would be most welcome :)

* * *

"What?" Boromir snapped a little testily. The blonde slayer had been staring at him for a while, an expression of nausea all over her face.

"You're…uh…actually going to skin it?" the silence that followed her question was only broken by the crackling of the campfire. Boromir stared at Buffy like she had lost her mind.

"No, Buffy, I thought it would make a wonderful addition to the stuffed vulture my father has in his study. We could even make a nice little scene, nature at its best, no?"

"Boromir, what are you…? Ah, no, I get it. Let's make fun of Buffy and her reluctance to face the innards of a poor animal." She mock pouted.

"You face orcs, goblins, trolls…you even wanted to face that imaginary dragon and yet you are sickened by my attempts to provide us a meal?"

"But it's a bunny!" He was still staring at her sitting form beside him, his jaw starting to drop. "And, and bunnies are cute and harmless, so not meant to be hunted down like rats, even though they _are_ rodents and oh good God I sound just like Willow…"

"Who is Willow?" he absentmindedly asked as he went through the process of preparing dinner, concentrating on the one thing he had been able to catch from her ramble. Buffy suddenly looked like she wanted to be far, far away. Boromir looked up at her lack of response, frowning when he saw her nervous tension. Faced with his steady gaze, Buffy looked away, wringing her hands ever so slightly.

"She is…was a friend." She did not want to talk about this, or face it. No matter how many years had passed, it still stung. Boromir's face closed off and he turned his attention back to preparing the rabbit.

"Ah. I see," was the short, terse reply. Buffy fidgeted.

"See? N-no, nothing to be seen here. Nope. Nuh-"

"Buffy, whatever else you may think of me, do not take me for an idiot. This Willow you speak of is clearly that part of your life which you so avoid and do not wish to talk about. It has been years, Dagnir." Buffy winced slightly at the use of her elvish title. He looked up at her again, his stare hard. "I have not broached the subject, respecting your wishes, but it is high time that you, as you so aptly put it many times, get over it."

"Well, uh, you've never even asked!" was the defensive response. He raised an eyebrow.

"I meant after the whole speak or I'll shoot-an-arrow-through-you-for-trespassing thing…"

"Yes well, after the initial introductions were over, we were a little preoccupied with getting away with our lives for me to inquire further. After things had settled, how was I to ask about something which made you positively twitchy even when it was merely implied?"

She looked down at her feet, biting her lip. Buffy didn't get it herself, so how could she explain that it just hurt to think about it to him? Yes, it had been years as he'd said, but that was also part of the problem. Why hadn't they come for her yet? Intellectually she knew there could be a million different factors preventing them; it was even possible they didn't know that she was gone yet (she knew firsthand that time did not run at the same pace in different dimensions), but she felt slightly betrayed…and abandoned. It was not horrible here, but it was not home.

"Buffy," the gentle tone of his voice made her look up again. "I may not be the best person to talk about such things, but I do count you among my friends. Do not push me away, as your continued silence is doing, when I only wish to help."

He was right. She wasn't being fair to him. He had let her into his life, gave her a place in this strange world, had been there for her when she had no one else. Was it really too much of him to want to know about her past? Boromir wasn't the most patient of men, he probably would have blown a fuse a long while ago had it been anybody else, but he had never pushed her to reveal what she hadn't wanted to.

She looked up into his steady gaze. It was reassuring. He had been there for her, by her side, ever since their rather dramatic introduction at Gondor's borders. He was a loyal, steadfast friend, the best she could hope for. Taking a deep breath, she made a decision.

"What do you want to know?"

She was almost insulted at his look of surprise. What, he didn't think that she could do the mature thing and let things go? Her annoyance flickered out when she noticed the pleased gleam in his eyes and the small smile tugging at his lips. He had honestly just wanted to know more about her. Buffy felt touched and not a little sheepish for avoiding the subject for so long.

A teasing gleam entered Boromir's eyes.

"Perhaps you should begin at the beginning? I never did appreciate Faramir's half assed attempts at telling a story backwards."

She narrowed her eyes at his impish grin. They both knew full well that Faramir was an excellent storyteller. It seemed to run in the family; even Denethor could spin a good tale when he had a mind to. Two could play this game.

"Well, in a time long ago and in a land far away-"

Buffy grinned at his grimace. Even in this world, such a beginning was considered tasteless and overused. Never mind that most of their stories really _did_ begin long ago.

"If you are going to continue telling the story in that manner, I'd rather you stopped now," Boromir said, spitting the skinned rabbit over the fire. They shared a grin, Buffy raising her hands placatingly.

"Okay, okay, you got me."

Taking another deep breath, she started talking, beginning with her arrival in Sunnydale. As she talked, she felt a tension she hadn't realized was there drain away. The more she told, the less it hurt to recall those events that had changed her life. Buffy left little out of her tale. It felt good to share it, especially with such a surprisingly good listener as Boromir. It felt like she could finally…let go.

This world still didn't feel like home, but, she realized with a pleasant tingle, it could.

**Fin**


End file.
